


Lapdog

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [17]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Banter, Belly Rubs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Faun!Scout, Fauns & Satyrs, M/M, Monsters, Play Fighting, Roughhousing, Unrequited Love, Werewolf!Demoman, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper plans another one of his trips while relaxing in his quarters with Demoman, who decides to deflect his planning with a plea for attention.  This gets the bushman thinking.  About Demoman, about his feelings for him, about how he thinks they’re not returned, and about what it would be like if they were.  Also, tummy rubs are involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lapdog

Demoman huffed, leaning against the wall as he reclined on Sniper's bed, watching the rangy rifleman puttering about his quarters, mumbling to himself.

"Goin' to need an easily concealed weapon in case things get hairy, an offering—probably some sweets, fae love sweets—and make sure to bring protection against enchantments," he listed, making notes in his head and rifling through a chest filled with magical bits and baubles. He withdrew a marble-sized pearl that bore magical runes painted in a silver substance. "And this little beaut!"

"Wassat, then?" the Scot asked, raising an eyebrow.

"This is a Diver's Pearl," the bushman explained, striding over and sitting down beside him. "You swallow it whole, and it lets you breathe water like it was air for about eight hours or so, until it dissolves inside you."

"One o' Merasmus' wee tricks?"

"Nah, I did a favour for a nereid a few years back. She gave me this little gem as a thanks."

"A favour?"

"Yeh, nothin' sexual. Turns out she was into sheilas. But, she'd asked me to take care of a sailor who kept comin' round her lagoon, not understandin' the meanin' of 'I don't bloody fuck crusty shiprats'. Was an easy enough job. She paid me in a few magic trinkets, a small box of these bein' amongst 'em."

"And here I thought all ye did with the supernatural is shag 'em."

"Just the really hot ones," Sniper replied with a wink.

"Ach, then what're ye messin' around with me for, then?" Demoman's lips tugged to the side in a smirk of dismissive disbelief.

"You looked in a mirror lately, mate?" came the bushman's reply with a chuckle.

"I have. Some one-eyed bloody monster keeps starin' back at me."

"Well if it wasn't apparent, I've got sort of a _thing_ for monsters," Sniper teased, giving his friend his best grin.

Demoman heart fluttered a bit at that. He knew what Sniper had meant by that, but the low growl of his voice and that charming smile had him wagging his metaphorical tail. "Issat why ye keep me around, then?" It was a loaded question, his eyebrow arching.

"Well I'd hate for you to leave," Sniper reasoned with a shrug. "No matter how nice it would be to watch you walk away."

The bomber chuckled at that. Of course Sniper would deflect him. "Yet I'm the one always followin' ye."

"You do seem keen on watchin' my arse. Literally and metaphorically."

"Don't have tae be behind ye tae watch yer arse. Just lookin' in yer general direction. 'Cause it's all 'o ye. Yer an arse, Mundy."

"I get it, you shit," Sniper laughed, shoving the bomber's shoulder and watching him wobble.

Demoman swatted half-heartedly back, picking up the tea he had sitting on the night stand and taking a swig before setting it back down. It was lukewarm now, a sad affair, but it was sweet with honey and an aromatic mix of roses and orange pekoe that soothed him in spite of its shameful temperature. "So when do ye plan tae try and sneak off, then?"

Sniper hemmed and reached over to snatch a well-thumbed spiral date-book off of the night stand, sitting back up and flipping it open. He searched through his schedule, through days marked as contracted with BLU, days he'd picked up side-work freelancing, days off where he'd made time to spend on leisure with his few friends (most of them coworkers), days promised to Demoman, and through his next planned trip to Bangkok.

Demoman watched Sniper perusing the book, muttering to himself in low, fried tones as he often did, positing possible days but shooting them down upon discovering previous obligations. He watched those lips moving slowly, those teeth glinting between them, his eyes behind sunglasses zipping this way and that over the pages. He watched his furrowed brows and hunched shoulders, and the way he managed to be gangly enough to sit stooped forward but not crumple in on himself. His eye fell to Sniper's lap, and he grinned.

Sniper hadn't noticed any movement until, without warning, he found himself suddenly with a Scottish prince in his lap, his tank top riding up his belly and kilt hitched appealingly up his thighs. His head hit the pillow beside the bushman's leg, leaving his torso spread luxuriantly across Sniper's lap. He looked up with one big brown eye, brows canted up pleadingly, a small hopeful smile playing at his lips.

He was entirely too cute for a hardened killer, dark curls along his belly peeking up from under the hem of his tank.

"What's this, then?" Sniper asked with a laugh, setting down the date book to give the Scot his full attention.

Demoman just wriggled a little to get more comfortable, his smile tugging further against the corners of his lips. The movement made his shirt ride up just a little more, exposing more of the dark, muscular expanse of his belly and the soft, fluffy hairs that ran along it.

With a grin, Sniper let his hand rest on that bare skin, his fingers curling under and stretching out, slowly, leisurely repeating as he scratched gently at Demoman's tummy. The Scot went pliant under his touch, a contented sigh escaping him as his eye fluttered closed. He'd gotten what he wanted, and Sniper was all too happy to give it to him, his fingers picking up speed, dragging his nails lightly up and down his belly with gentle movements, then pressing his palm flat to rub at his warm skin and soft hair.

"Mighty fine tum you've got," the bushman chuckled as the bomber sighed again, smiling broadly under the attention. He lifted the bomber's tank top, pushing it up to expose him up to his chest, and let his hand drift along the flesh it revealed.

Demoman was fit; a tall, athletic man of muscle and mischief. His abs were visible beneath his flesh, but in soft rises and shallow valleys.

But then, Demoman was no normal man, in so many ways.

A soft hum vibrated against Sniper's palate, his face a dumb smile as his eyes drifted over the supine Scot lying blissed-out in his lap. What a perfect creature. What an amazing man. Handsome, clever, rakish, and funny, he was ideal in every way. Sniper felt his pulse speed a bit as Demoman let a soft moan escape through his nose. What lovely sounds.

Moments like these, when Demoman would come out of the slightly standoffish shell he wore when they were together and clothed, were so very worth the wait. It was so rare to see the bomber just relax around him, to just be content to lay and touch and smile and be together. It almost felt like a real relationship, Sniper thought. Or at least, he hoped.

They had come together by accident, by lust, and had the most mind-blowing sex Sniper had ever had, drooling and gasping in the dark of night. It had been intense, visceral, and lying there on Demoman's chest in the afterglow, he felt so very right. As the beast returned to the man, and that sleepy, sated smile greeted him, the exhausted, yet still honeyed tones of the Scot's throaty brogue meeting his ears as they watched the sunrise, it had been absolutely perfect.

Sniper had asked if they could do this again, but it had been Demoman who, the next day, had asked if they could have liaisons when he wasn't decked out in fur and frenzy. It had confused the bushman a little, that he'd felt the need to clarify the offer. He wanted to shag Demoman again. The wolf was a part of him, just as the man was, and they were one in the same person. Certainly, his monstrous mein was a wonderful bonus, one enjoyed once a month and anticipated greatly. But nonetheless, Demoman was Demoman, whether clad in dark skin and tight curls or thick fur and sharp claws. Either way, Sniper had been glad to agree, and the sex they had was the stuff of legend.

Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just sex. Laying tangled in sheets and one another, breathless and senseless, it had become far more to the rangy assassin.

Demoman had just wanted sex. That's why he'd come to him after that first time. That's why he kept coming back. That's why he kept Sniper at arm's length and stopped himself whenever he felt he was getting over-affectionate. He wouldn't want Sniper to get the wrong idea. After all, it was worrying enough how protective he'd become.

Having regular partners must have been achingly difficult as a werewolf. Hiding a giant, dangerous, arcane secret like that from a partner had to be trying, to say the least. It was no wonder he'd never sought anyone out before, too terrified of his secret to try. It only made sense that once he'd found a confidant in Sniper, he would work hard to protect his investment. He clearly didn't like Sniper screwing other supernatural creatures, but never one had he told him to stop. Simply, he accompanied him to ensure his safety.

Sniper often wondered what would happen if he got his wish. If Demoman wanted more than just a warm body and a friend to keep his secret. What then? Would the bomber want him to stay home, physical only with him? Would he no longer be able to seek out exotic creatures and shag them? Would he have to choose between love and his lifelong fixation?

If Demoman would ask him to stop, if he would tell Sniper he wanted him all to himself, Sniper would stop in an instant. He'd mourn, of course. The hobby is his passion, his life's fascination, but he would come to heel nonetheless. He'd wrap himself in the Scot's arms and be fulfilled, content to spend his days with his lupine prince.

It wasn't like he'd ever ask him, though. No matter how much he wanted it. Demoman was far too busy with all of his jobs for love, and with all of the time they spent together, if he was interested, Sniper would know by now.

Though he couldn't help but entertain flights of fancy, coming home from some trip to some obscure place, to tumble and rut with some obscure creature, only to be held close and kissed and soothed by that handsome bomber, reclaimed as his mate as warm bodies collided in the night.

"Ye alright?" Demoman asked, eye half-lidded and sleepy as he looked up at the gunman with curiosity. "Ye've not said anythin' in a while. And yer hand's slowed."

Sniper sluggishly sank back to reality, longing and wishing and rationalization bleeding away as he was reminded of the warm body in his lap and the soft belly beneath his fingers, which sped back up in response. "Sorry, mate. Sort of got lost in thought for a tic."

"It's alright," the bomber smiled. By God, did he have an amazing smile.

"Thanks, mate," came the reply with a smile in return. Sniper paid closer attention, watching Demoman's belly as his fingers lightly scratched over it, sifting through tight curls and traveling over softly lined muscle. It was a fine tum, and a soft laugh rose in Sniper's chest as he imagined what he'd look like if he'd stopped all of his constant work but kept his usual pace of drinking. He might look rather fetching with a bit of a paunch, really.

"What's so funny?" Demoman asked, his eye lolling back open as he turned his gaze on the snickering assassin.

"Nothin', mate," Sniper chuckled, poking the bomber in his navel and wrenching a ticklish jerk from him.

"Ach, none o' that!" Demoman barked, fixing a glare at the bushman. He knew well how much the Scot disliked having his navel touched.

As such, he immediately dug a finger into it and wiggled it as much and as hard as he could before he was grabbed round the neck by the crook of Demoman's elbow and dragged to the floor in a heap. They wrestled, rolling about, grabbing limbs and trying to apply holds, wriggling and tussling about as they flailed. Laughter quickly rose from both men, and when they finally came to a halt, Demoman straddled Sniper's hips, hands pressing his wrists to the floor above his head, his breath puffing out in heavy chuckles.

A voice rose over the soft din of their panting. "Shit, did I come at a bad time?"

Both looked over to see Scout at the door, peeking his head in, looking a little unsure as he beheld the sight before him. Neither had even heard him begin to enter.

"Nae, Scout we just--"

Scout smirked, watching both men grow flustered. It was rather endearing, really. It had been no secret the two were sleeping together, and, in fact, the faun had shared a bed with them on a few occasions. But all the same, he knew the difference between them messing around and romance. No matter what they said, it was clear as day how they felt. Just not to one another. "Look, I'll just give you two lovebirds some alone time, sorry 'bout that. When you're done, Heavy's makin' some kinda crazy Russian apple dumplings, an' they should be done in like half an hour, he says. So, yanno, you got 'til then to make kissy faces an' shit before you risk missin' out," he grinned, tugging his head back out of the doorway, mindful of his antlers, and closing the door, his hooves clicking down the hallway as he left.

Sniper looked up at Demoman, who looked down at him, and they sighed. Leave it to Scout to make things awkward.

"So..."

"Aye..."

They stayed there a moment, avoiding eye contact while staring one another down, until, finally, Sniper reached up and poked Demoman's navel with a sharp-toothed grin.

Before he knew it he was cackling as the Scot cinched him into a full-nelson.


End file.
